


One Sheet to the Wind

by Capriccio



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inanimate Objects, Inanimate Object Porn, Inanimate Objects, M/M, Other, POV Inanimate Object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capriccio/pseuds/Capriccio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is just a plain white sheet, happily drying on the clothesline, until a gust of wind tangles him with the arrogant blanket next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Sheet to the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Alternative Universe challenge](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/tag/r3%3A%20week%203) for summerpornathon 2011.
> 
> Also available on [livejournal](http://capricornucopia.livejournal.com/9287.html).

Merlin’s nothing special to look at, being just a plain white sheet. He’s got a bit of an edge on store-bought sheets—he’s hand-woven and a Hunith one-of-a-kind, after all—but other than that, he’s just plain white. Boring.

At least Gwen seems to like him. She washes him every week and pins him to the clothesline to dry when the weather’s nice. Merlin likes that because he gets to chat with Gwen’s other laundry instead of being tumbled about in the hot, stuffy dryer. Her tablecloths in particular have some fine stories to tell.

Merlin _really_ likes it when all the neighbouring laundry is also hung out to dry. On a sunny day like today with the wind blowing, it’s a riot of colour as far as he can see.

There’s someone new hanging on the neighbour’s line today. Merlin is right across from it, so he’s in the perfect spot to take a good look. It’s a blanket, heavy and rich, coloured a warm, lovely red with a splash of gold on the front.

But nice as the blanket looks, it’s clearly unhappy, because the neighbour—Merlin thinks her name is Morgana—comes out with a carpet beater. Sure enough, she starts beating the blanket ferociously to clean the dirt off it the old-fashioned way.

“Bloody _ow_!” the blanket mutters, shifting this way and that, but he—Merlin can tell now it’s a he—is pinned firmly to the line.

Merlin can’t help but laugh. He knows it doesn’t actually hurt. “Good luck with that, mate,” he calls.

The blanket waits until Morgana runs back into the house to take a phone call, and makes sure she’s really gone before he turns his attention to Merlin. “Come here and say that to me,” he challenges at once.

Merlin is about to respond, but there’s a strong gust of wind right then, and apparently Gwen’s clothespins weren’t the good kind, because they snap off quick as thought. Merlin is dangling dangerously loose, and before he can do more than shout in alarm, another gust blows him straight into the triumphant blanket’s waiting folds.

“Oi!” Merlin says, struggling, then pauses. The blanket is heavy and wraps all around him, but instead of feeling threatened like he expects, it feels kind of nice—like he’s something to be protected or something to be cherished.

The blanket seems as surprised as Merlin feels. “You feel—” he says, but doesn’t finish his sentence. “What’s your thread count?” he asks after a moment, his voice low and unsteady. He could just drop Merlin on the grass and be done with it. Instead, he grasps onto Merlin tightly and holds on.

“Don’t know,” Merlin says, squirming into or out of the blanket’s hold, he’s not sure which. He only succeeds in tangling them together more snugly.

The blanket shivers as he winds them closer together. “You’re hand-made aren’t you? That’s why. What’s your name?” he asks breathlessly.

“Merlin. Yours?” Merlin gasps, and he’s not about to get off with some strange, arrogant, _dirty_ blanket when he’s freshly washed, but this feels nothing like lying underneath Gwen’s old quilt that sleeps most of the time and barely even talks.

“Arthur,” comes the response. The blanket seems intent on thoroughly exploring every thread and stitch in Merlin’s body, and what’s more, Merlin is willing to let him. He hasn’t _ever_ felt like this, like every part of him belongs to Arthur. Arthur is just as rich as he looks, thick and warm, full of heavy creases and folds just waiting for Merlin to bury into them. Merlin wonders what it would feel like to be underneath all that weight on a proper bed. He moans, trying to burrow his way closer.

“You’re so soft and smooth, not like those other sheets,” Arthur says, dragging himself deliberately all along Merlin's edges. Merlin trembles, stretching to meet Arthur’s clinging hold and feeling ready to burst at the seams. They’re gliding alongside each other, moving together perfectly, Arthur echoing his every curve and shape, no space between them, only fabric against fabric.

“Want you under me,” Arthur grunts, as Merlin cries out and arches against him, increasing their rhythm. “Want to feel you all over, cover you end-to-end, have only a corner of you peeking out so everyone can see you trapped underneath me, and I’ll keep you there all night long, right where you belong.”

This time they don’t even need a gust of wind to tumble them both to the ground.


End file.
